The Prize
by Paper Pearls
Summary: Bellatrix Lestrange has given up everything for the Dark Lord and done so willingly. She is trapped and continually obsesses about being granted the freedom to return to his side.


**This is my response to **_**Pinky Green's**_** "Running Away" challenge and it is loosely based upon the Yeah Yeah Yeah's song "Runaway", but not a songfic. I'm dedicating this to MozFreak for introducing me to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs in the first place.**

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"_Run, run, run away  
No sense of time  
Want you to stay  
Want keep you inside_

Run, run, run away  
Lost, lost, lost my mind  
Want you to stay  
Want you to be my prize"

_-The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, "Runaway"_

Bellatrix Lestrange peered between the bars of her cell, staring unblinkingly at the tempest that raged before her. The occasional splashes of ice cold water would reach her, even on the highest and most secure level of the prison, and every drop of water reminded her of what it was to feel natural power flowing through her veins. Her hands ached, not because of the relentless cold of the iron bars they gripped, the cold that had tinged them slightly blue yet failed to deter her, but due to the absence of her wand. It was the perfect extension of herself. It had inflicted pain on those who had crossed her. It had been a harness for her creativity. It was gone.

She watched as lightning slashed through the mauve skies, momentary slicing open the heavens and illuminating the world enough that she could make out every detail the jagged landscape of her side of the island. Everything was harsh and barren, and were she not trapped Bellatrix knew that she would appreciate the scenery. She groaned with delight as another wave slapped at her hands before falling back into the cot. There was no way of telling how long she had been here. Her hair was crusted with sea salt and her feet perpetually numb with cold. Surely it would not be long now... The Master was magnificent in ways no other could hope to emulate, and naturally this would have drawn others to him. Others who could never be as devoted as her, but would help return the Master's most faithful servant to his side. Bellatrix nodded to herself, fingering the ragged edges of her blanket. She had not yet covered herself with it. There was no need because soon she would be gone.

How many times had she thought this? Time had long since become meaningless here, and all Bellatrix could do was turn over her most cherished thought like a smooth pebble from the beach, turn it again and again and again and again. A golden light lacking in warmth briefly bathed her cell, highlighting the cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the tattered dress she was still wearing and showing the dirt covering her limbs. Rudolphus would have sneered, stroking that goatee of his, and said that such a state was worthy only of a mudblood. He had never understood that such hardships only gave the opportunity of proving devotion to the Dark Lord. Perhaps his faith would not have sustained him as Bella's had her. She traced the outline of her Mark, not needing light to guide her hands over the skin. Could the Dark Lord feel it? Bellatrix could feel the freezing air gripping at her exposed flesh, tearing the warmth from her insides.

Cold. Cold that was colour of Narcissa's skin. Her beautiful, fragile baby sister had been spared. It was for the best that she was out of harm's way. Cissy needed feather beds and fashionable clothes, and deserved every luxury life had to offer. But serving the Dark Lord was a luxury, wasn't it? A high pitched wail filled her ears. The reckless abandon of the sound frightened her, and there was little that could hope to scare Bellatrix Lestrange. It was only when a burning heat blossomed inside her throat that Bellatrix realised that she was screaming with her back arched and her face forming a ragged mask of anguish. Sitting up and taking in the velvet darkness of her cell, Bellatrix laughed. It was hilarious that she hurt. She bellowed with mirth until tears marched down her cheeks in a constant stream. The Dark Lord would welcome her with open arms. Bellatrix lay back down, spread her arms and embraced what her servitude had resulted in.

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours or even days later when a unique blend of pain and pleasure seared across the inside of Bellatrix's arm. She sat bolt upright, aware that for the first time since her captivity she felt warmth infusing her weakened frame. There was a sharp tang of salt as she licked her lips in anticipation, a feral smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Rock grated against rock as the walls of her prison split, a liberating gust of air caressing the side of her face in a way that only His hand ever had. Her body became strong once more as the Dark Lord provided Bellatrix with the strength she had lacked for so long.

In her dreams Bellatrix had never felt the smoothness of the stones beneath her feet or heard the roar of the wind in her ears, but now she felt both. He had deemed her worthy. Her wobbling footsteps ceased as Bellatrix reached the end of the structure, bits of the wall poking upwards like mismatched teeth. She had returned from the belly of the beast. The leviathan had felt her fire in its belly and spat her back out once more.

Closing her eyes, Bella concentrated and flexed her rigid fingers, swaying in time to a tune that pulsed through her veins. She made a fist and felt the curve of wood in her hand. Victory was finally hers. A delighted cry rose from her lungs to meet the blurs of the circling dementors. Floating through the clouds, they could not touch her now. The protection of the Dark Lord was upon her, and Bellatrix knew that it had been granted to no other. He had chosen her to lead the others back to him. Bellatrix leapt forward into the storm, knowing that she would not be forsaken.

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**Thanks for reading. Please review.**


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